there is an anchor.
i am hopeless, but she is not. all my hope is for her. i was lost a long time ago.
i can't decide if it's worse for her to end up like this, being able to SEE, or being a sheep. sheep seem happier, ignorance really does seem to be bliss. sometimes i wish i knew.
instead i want to crash. and i am, just not all at once.
i want to know what it's like to be free.
how far do i have to fall before i know?
i don't envy them anymore. not too much. i've walked in on your lie, seen it myself. all of you have them. and if that's how it's supposed to be, i guess i really don't want it. i don't want to be another complaint, another reason to not have faith. another mistake you can frame and curse and blame.
count me out.

rally legs!

for a long time now, i've accepted the fact that i am going to be single forever. there are times when this has made me sad, or angry, and times when i have enjoyed the freedom in it.
what i realize now, however, is that i probably will not be. i am kind of a kickass girl, and at some point, i will finally meet an equally kickass dude, and we will hang out, listening to the misfits, baking pies, and doing the nasty.
so here's the thing. if you would like to be considered for the role of my kickass dude, there are certain things you will have to deal with. they're not unreasonable, and it will be more than worth it to be in my company. one of the most important things you will have to learn to live with is RALLY LEGS!
i am kind of a big sports fan. especially baseball, namely the boston red sox. while it is not imperative that you be a sports fan, you must be able to understand my fanaticism. you are not required to watch baseball with me, but you may not give me any shit about my watching it. i am not to be disturbed during any games except in an emergency, and in the postseason, don't bother me at all. the postseason is generally where RALLY LEGS! come into play.
during the 2004 alcs, when my beloved red sox were down 3 games to 0, for no particular reason, the day of game 4, i didn't shave my legs. if we had lost that game, we would've been done and the evil yankees would've gone to the world series. well, many extra innings, much nailbiting, and we won. we stayed in it. red sox fans are known for being painfully optimistic, and very superstitious. so, it was clear to me that my leg stubble had something to do with us winning, and therefore i did not shave my legs for the rest of the alcs. we won, we went to the world series. swept the cardinals in 4 games, during which i also had wookie legs. my disgustingly fuzzy legs helped break an 86 year curse. every year since, when the sox are down, the razor is abandoned, and it generally seems to help.
so, if you are man enough to deal with RALLY LEGS!, then maybe you are man enough to deal with me. and because i am a nice person, i will generally invest in cute knee socks during times where RALLY LEGS! are necessary so you don't actually have to touch them.

*none of this applies to yankee fans, as i will never ever touch you.

whiskey and champagne

sleep deprived depravity
i can't pretend to be
something more
or less than this
i can't stand to read your worthless
empty
blood spewing anymore
when i know i am not the reason
for your anything

just because the one who really cares isn't the one you wish it was, doesn't mean you should take them for granted.

some things you should know

i have a reputation as a bit of a badass. most people think of me this way because they've seen me get in a fight, or heard a story about me getting in a fight. or the time i stabbed that guy..truth is i should've been arrested many times, but i'm lucky. i don't think the fact that i can fight makes me a badass. if i am, it's because of where i come from. i am what many of my acquaintances would call white trash. they would use that term with disdain, i will use it with pride.
this is not a sob story.
i grew up with nothing. if there had been trailer parks where i lived, that's where we would've resided. instead it was shitty apartments. my father left when i was 2. my mother tried, to an extent. i don't know how much credit i feel like giving her right now.
i will credit her with forcing me to learn to fight. she took out her frustrations with her life on me. when you're a little kid, this can be confusing. you think your mother is supposed to be a source of comfort and strength. when you hit 13, after a few years of getting the shit beaten out of you for a few years, for such offenses as playing music too loud, or asking for mom and her friends to please shut their drunk asses up since it's 3 am and you have to be up for school in a few hours, you realize this is not always the case. you realize that even mommy cannot be trusted. so you don't tell her about the babysitter who made you do some rather unsavory things, or the guy who drugged you at a party and raped you in his car. or the fact that you feel like dying every minute of every day because the kids at school call you ugly and weird. you hold these things, and in time, you make them yours. you realize the only one you can trust is you.
you become a badass.
you realize you can fight.
the next guy who tries to rape you gets a box cutter buried in his chest. the people who call you ugly and weird are met only with a knowing look. it means nothing now. you realize there is a freedom that comes with scorning the standards society has put in place.
i have no respect for people who haven't struggled a little. and i feel like i know too many of them.

DO YOU

do you mean any of it?

all those beautiful fucking words?

tied up and twisting and choking me?

i am drowning in your eyes and lies and bottles of something to make me think this is life but it isn't and i am running so far so fast and fucking mirrors trying to break them but i can still see me bloody and falling and not wanting anyone to catch me and that train will take me somewhere far from where i need to be and i don't mind at all. it will be so dark

when i get to you 

fuck me

for thinking i could ever get to you

not from here

my rotting 

warm wet insides will be solace for you and maybe even me for a minute or two

please tear them out and wear them like something pretty and don't bother talking words are letters dyslexic and in languages i never understood

where was i

ever

i gave something life and what life will it be?

i've been banished from anyplace that could ever matter

i've been raped by everyone who ever looked at me and saw something other than what i wanted them to

right now i am begging you to do it again

if i had a gun that was not of my own making i would eat it but instead...

this.

judgery (douchebaggery)

if you are my friend you would not judge me. you would not laugh about me behind my back. your perfect little life may be perfect for you, and that's brilliant, but maybe we don't all think the same. we don't need to live the same. it's funny how people who profess themselves to be open minded have so much to say about how someone else chooses to live their life. maybe if you really gave a fuck, you'd ask me why i make the decisions i do, the choices i do, instead of talking about it when i'm not there and then pretending the conversation never happened when i am there. maybe you shouldn't talk shit on someone elses past mistakes when you've all made so many of your own. and maybe if you really did respect me, and know i'm not an idiot then you'd trust i can take care of myself. it's fucking sad that putting someone else down can make you feel better about you. look inside, acknowledge your own faults before you point out someone elses..and you know what? if you feel that strongly that a person is beneath you, maybe you should tell them to their face, or at least not smile in it while shoving a knife in their back.